


Sexual Awakening should come with an Information Pamphlet

by Sealachii



Category: Brave Police J-Decker
Genre: Again, BAD AT THIS TM, M/M, Other, POINTS BACK TO, PWP, heat fic but nooot really bc im BAD AT THIS TM, how do you smut sobs, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:52:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealachii/pseuds/Sealachii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Granting the experience for sexual recreation to giant A.I. beings should not be so logical; but see also: it is.</p><p>Things that are less logical: Said A.I. beings figuring out what to do with this Brave New World of Sexual Intercourse.</p><p>Aka - some one shots about the B.P. getting it on kinda sorta for the first time in forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sexual Awakening should come with an Information Pamphlet

**Author's Note:**

> HELLLO I BLAME FOR THIS TRAINWRECK COSMIC  
> CAUSER OF THESE ILL FORMED SINS  
> AND MANY MORE TO COME HERE AFTER
> 
> I have no explanation for this but self indulgence  
> In this chapter: 
> 
> Gunmax and Deckerd do hopefully sexy things also there are kitty ears  
> why???  
> because im self indulgent and on a power trip, dance puppets, dance~

 

The chair creaks every time Deckerd shifts; reinforced titanium alloy holding up against four tons of nervous fidgeting, but not without protest.  
He draws in a largely useless breath, focuses on the press of air on his engine chamber, the measured hiss of it slipping out through side vents like the way Azuki exhales when she’s nervous.

The chair creaks shakily one more time, before the rattle of a knob slips him out of the thoughtless pattern of inhale and ex-vent.  
“Sorry for taking so long.” Toudou begins, not looking sorry at all, as he walks towards the smaller table and chair set out for him in a raised a platform.  
“It’s no problem, I haven’t been here a while”

Toudou just nods without looking, heaving a briefcase on the table and digging around in the mess it contains until he pulls out a small remote.  
A click and a whir that makes the overhead projector stutter to life.  
Deckerd almost asks what the mysteriously vague memo for the meeting was about, but last time someone rushed Toudou when he had that crease between his eyes had not gone well.  
Azuma had been scrapping industrial strength adhesive from his tie for about a week.  
Instead he concentrates on not shifting and making the chair sound like it’s about to collapse.

“Alright,” Toudou straightens up, shuffling some papers around and clicking the remote one more time so that a presentation slide in front of them has the words “A.I. Development: Physio-psychological components” superimposed on them.  
Deckerd suddenly finds not fidgeting a bigger challenge than before.

“I’ve done this about five times already so I’m just going to cut the chase,” the remote is clicked again, and 3 slides flash by in a second. His processor still makes out part of the slides; the words:  Psychological effect of sentience, natural biological behavior and frame overhaul don’t give him much confidence.

“Long story short ok; you’ve heard about Dumpson and that Ayako woman having their thing right?”  
“Yes?” In the various directions his analysis subroutines expected this to go, this was not one of them.  
“They’ve entered into a close relationship. We’re all very happy for him.” Which was a polite way to say that Dumpson had been absolutely unable to stop talking about Ayako for about a good two weeks or so recently; and they’d all been treated to various conversations about how Ayako was very witty and insightful and great.  
Deckerd hadn’t had the heart to tell him it was getting repetitive.

“Exactly. It brought some things into consideration given your unplanned sentience.” Toudou turned to lean on the table and look at Deckerd directly. “I’m assuming you know the basics of Sex?”

Deckerd felt for a moment that he understood what Yuuta talked about when he mentioned choking.  
“Umm,” His frame felt like it was burning, the roar of an overtaxed engine standing in for an embarrassed blush. “I – uh.”  
Toudou stared back, the corner of his mouth tilting up the way it did whenever Saejima was being childish about something.  
“The basics; yes.”

He managed to stall his engine for the seconds needed to get the rattle of it down to a more reasonable level.  
“Heh, figures you’d be the shy one.”  
His engine is under control, but his plating still feels overheated as Deckerd loses the willpower to keep looking at Toudou’s smirk directly.

“Anyway the point of it is: one of you entering into a romantic relationship brought up something we didn’t keep in mind building frames for what were supposed to be non-sentient A.I’s.”  
Deckerd stubbornly stared at the projected slide which was now displaying something called ‘Maslow’s pyramid of needs’.

“Getting it over with quickly to spare you the details: Sexual urges and acts are something almost all organic and conscious minds do. It’s considered to be a biological imperative to encourage reproduction and for most people it’s a need, if usually a minor one.”

When he turned back to look at Toudou the man was unusually serious, the kind of look he only got when elbow deep in the internals of some machinery or drafting out new patches of code for the more delicate parts of their systems.  
“Dumpson has had the opportunity to have a romantic relationship, and it’s almost inevitable for the sexual aspect to be brought up. Currently it would be impossible for you to engage in that aspect of human affection. Which is why, we’re offering you a kind of upgrade, if you’d be interesting in experiencing that at any point.”

Deckerd doesn’t say anything for what is probably only a few seconds but feels like an age.  
In the time it takes for Toudou to settle more comfortable against the table and cross his arms he’s already run an internet search on sexuality and its importance for human beings, skimmed three studies on the effects depravation of it can have on people and found a large and confusing list of sexual orientations complete with subdivisions and Kinsey scale.

Deckerd turns the chair to face Toudou fully and the scrape of the metal on concrete floors almost feels as awkward as the silence, almost.

“What would this…upgrade…have?”  
“Well humans are sexually dimorphic not only in looks but also in reproductive organs, generally you have one or the other and exceptions to this are genetic anomalies. But, they are usually tied to our idea of gender.”  
Toudou sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “The thing is, we're not very sure about your thoughts on gender yet, and if you might want to consider it at all at this point in time. So what we’re offering so far is this: We can install both at once, a kind of fully hermaphroditic sexual protocol and component.”

One last click and the projector switched over to a diagram of an altered pelvic array, a “valve” and “spike” addition clearly labeled, each with its own schematics and a design that let them be concealed behind nearly seamless panels.

“And before you ask about the names, the boards of Directors are all apparently 6 years old and become highly uncomfortable at the mention of the words “penis” or “vagina”. We had to change the damn names just to get through the pitch without them fainting or something for god’s sake.”

Toudou scowls darkly at the diagram for a second before turning to dig around in his briefcase some more. It’s small amount of privacy until he can think it over but Deckerd appreciates it anyway, giving the diagram another look in the meantime.

The concept drawings don’t make it seem too garish at least. They’re definitely shaped like the endless line of nude photographs that litter the internet; but on the upside it looks less out of place on a frame than he’d thought. The colors on the picture even match the ones on his paint job, while the little boxes next to the designs throw around words like ‘metal mesh’ and ‘sensor systems’.

“You could take them off at any time if it’s not to your liking of course.” Toudou says over his shoulder, scribbling something in the margins of a paper with too many graphs on it. “Keep one, have both or remove it all together. It’s your choice.”

Deckerd bites his lip, one of the many habits he’s picked up from Yuuta and his sisters, a dull press without pain and little sensation.  
“I think I’d be willing to give the, um, update a try.”

Toudou turns back on him with a grin that is both manic and suggestive, the same crazy-face look in his eyes like the time he gave Gunmax’s bike a nitro engine.  
“Great! That makes all of you! Just go down to the lab as soon as you can, you’re set up in room three!” The words spill out in a rush and three echoes down the Hallway as Toudou speeds away, still with that same suggestive smile in place.

Deckerd feels distinctly like he might regret this.

 

 

 The regret most definitively comes next time he wakes up and his chronometer times it as a full three days later.  
“Good morning Deckerd!” One of Toudou’s endless supply of cheerful and young looking assistants waves at him from a scaffolding.  
“Hello, uh –”  
“Inoue Soma, pleased to meet you.”

The Data Bases search him up automatically; Recent university graduate, stellar credentials and with several research papers to his name.  
Exactly the kind of person who staffs the Brave Police program and exactly the kind of person Toudou seems to grudge at first (chipper and eager while all the senior engineers are at that point in life where they drown themselves in coffee first thing in the morning).

Inoue types a couple of things into a tablet and skims over a readout next to the endless pile of monitors beside his station.  
“It seems like everything is alright so far. Your systems are fine and the new code meshed without a problem.  I’ll just disengage you from your station and you’re ready to leave whenever you wish!” He turns around to input the commands into the monitor and Deckerd drops from the docking station, onto his knees.

He can hear Inoue panicking somewhere around his left, but his processor is way more preoccupied with everything else.  
Docking into the work and repair stations dulled almost everything; and as soon as he’s disengaged the new update slams into him with all the subtlety of a hit and run.

Their bodies were never meant to house anything more than semi sentient A.I.; Toudou alone has complained about them having nothing but pressure sensors too many times to keep count.

But it they were very much not kidding about a full frame upgrade and the sensation is immense enough to be overwhelming.

The floor under his hands isn’t a press against him, it’s a sensation, cool and smooth, and _oh wow_ this is what concrete feels like.  
It’s only a second or two to get a handle on things and get himself upright; which is a good thing because Inoue looks to be about a second or two from pressing the panic button and calling in a no doubt unamused Toudou.

“I’m fine,” Deckerd mumbles out, because his mouth is strange too; the hiss and spit of his words slipping out slurred, tripping off a completely different tongue. Because he has one now and it’s not what was there before.  
Logs and systems checks flash around in his head; lubricant levels, secretion rates; he has to swipe the back of his hand of his hand across his mouth because there is something that feels like _drool_ slipping from the corner of his mouth.

Inoue looks about 5 seconds away from pressing the panic button which is a minor improvement at least.  
“It was; a bit overwhelming.” He swallows what’s been pooling in his mouth and that too is a novel experience, air sliding in when he takes a breath, bringing taste with it. The dust stale air of the Brave Police engineering hangars; cold, a taste like nothing and something while sensor readouts scroll through the back of his processor.  
Oxygen and carbon levels, humidity percentages, foreign particle analysis and, oh wow again, at how many things has Toudou crammed in them this time.

There’s that same feeling of thrill and apprehension when he wobbles forward on shaky legs, when the air drags down his throat and he can smell other things, like grease and rust and the exhaust of the super computers they keep all around, warm and metallic.

A feeling like winning, that moment where he finally _gets_ something; the first time Yuuta explained about leisure activities and hugging and fun in general in a way that he actually understood.

The walk down the hallway is weirdly exciting for something so mundane, as he drags his hand on the walls. Tile is smoother and colder than cement, but there are other, more intense things; when he presses his forehead against the door to his room, metal is cold enough to sting in the freezer like air conditioning of the base.

Everything is so much feeling.  
And he wastes a good hour on it all; the material of his cot is stiff, but smooth, its titanium alloy frame cold as the door, light bulbs are warm, and a good portion of that hour is wasted in the bathroom, which is nothing more than a shower stall cubicle to clean off the grime from patrols.

But water is cold, and it’s there and not there, slipping around his fingers like Yuuta's cat does in greeting.  
Deckerd leaves his hand under the spray for much too long until he remembers that bills are most certainly a thing. Even if he’s not the one to pay them.

He almost, almost forgets, the elephant in the room. Until he sits in his cot and a warning flashes somewhere in his processor.  
_Activation for Interface coding **Requested**_

And there comes the dread.  
But this is really what the whole thing was for, interesting bonuses aside; so with no small amount of irrational wariness he activates it all.

It really should feel different.  
It doesn’t.  
Almost to the point of letdown.  
But then again, it’s Toudou.  
Deckerd resists the urge to inspect his own pelvis in paranoid detail.

With only one other reasonable option left he begins to dig around in the coding the processor locks allow him to look at. The spike and valve protocols are gigantic, to say the least. Strings of layered commands, meshing with his new neural sensation program, stacks intricate enough to be a mild form of A.I. themselves. The dread makes a stunning return.

The whole thing is weirdly sophisticated, for what it really is.  
The protocols can be manually disabled at any time and lay dormant until “adequate stimuli” or “manual engagement”.  
Deckerd decides to take a plunge off the deep end, activating manual engagement.  
Something below him snaps back and _oh god there’s the difference_.

The first thing is just: cold, his room is suddenly too cold.  
The reflexive action to cover the offended area with his hand leads to _interesting places_.

His fingers brush against something soft, softer than anything so far; and there’s the jolt of sensation because _you’re touching yourself of course you can feel it_.  
Code indicates that what had snapped back is the interface panels.  
His spike is still depressurized a small odd hatch that lies a little above his valve.

Nervousness without decent cause bubbles up within, churns new tanks, rolling his engine with a clatter.  
Deckerd bites his lips again, and it’s not just a press anymore; bits of that excessive fluid slipping out when he runs his tongue against the little indents left on his lips.  
He’s suddenly very unsure about what he agreed to; but the hand still on his groin is absently tracing the shape of this new addition and that's something else that’s new.  
Maybe not exactly good in the strictest sense of the word, but he’s not inclined to stop.

Absent, swirling circles; it's mindless and it should not make anything happen but it does and o h, this is worse than drool.  
More lubrication read outs, a background noise of facts and percentages, now bigger than ever, ones that he’s never really been this inclined to ignore. But the room isn’t so cold anymore.

This is thick and wet, but there’s nothing about it that is anything like water.  
The fluid clings to his fingers as he drags it around, and there is probably a small mess but he’s really mostly focusing on other things.  
His jaw feels weirdly slack; this is somehow also not very high on the list of priorities.

Instead there’s too much sensation again, back to the crash from the docking station and he finds himself taking pants he doesn’t need with an itch swelling up somewhere. For something that’s just more. So he’s spread out now in the worst kind of posture, like when Gunmax splays his legs open at meetings to piss off Saejima.  
Then his hand, slick with fluid, slips in its path on the outside of his new component’s lips and good sense may be officially lost.

It’s good, and it’s good in a too good way and he should really stop for a second, but he also really isn’t going to do that right now. The code strings are labeled, “sensor node”, but it could be called anything because he’s not paying the least bit of attention to it anymore.  
His hips hitch every time he passes over it, and every time he feels more wet-slick fluid.  
It should be very off-putting.  
Deckerd hitches on another breath he doesn’t need instead as his spike pressurizes due to “adequate stimuli”.

Instincts are not a thing that should be programmable.  
Toudou once again, continues to disregard the finer morality points of experimental engineering.  
The coding makes it so simple, obvious, like a voice that whispers in his head, and he knows exactly what he has to do without knowing.

The spike is almost as wet as the valve and the slick slip-drag of his hand is just as bad/good as the node. Sounds catching in a throat without vocal cords but the noises slip out anyway.

Movement without hesitation, hips rolling up without conscious decision. More things tripping out of a half open mouth and he might be drooling again but his wrist gives a twist on the upstroke and just _fuck it._  
Fuck everything.

So he splays his legs wide open, a distant part wondering _was he always this flexible_ but then again that's also not important right now.  
The metal of a calf screeching against the rim of the cot, streaking blue pain all over the bed frame as his leg jerks.

Because he's hit some bump under the head that makes literal sparks crackle around his optics. And there's not a thought in his head but to chase it, thumbing over the node as something builds in the back of his throat that is nothing but static.

The itch swells and it’s easy and frustrating, forever and too short until everything in him tenses up before release. Static and electricity crackling over his frame, the white beam of his optics over bright optics and it is so much of everything he offlines for a second or two.

When he wakes up there’s fluid. On everything.  
Deckerd makes an oddly high pitched sound and accidentally streaks some of it on his face.

He takes it all back.  
This is very different.

 

 

The next Brave Police meeting quickly and quietly devolves into a silent stand off more intense that 74% of any criminal interaction they’ve had so far.

 

“Soooo,” Drill Boy breaks the silence, stretching out the word as he drums his fingers on the table. “Any of you jerked off yet?”

 

Deckerd takes a deep breath because he’s been prepared for this awkward reality ever since Toudou offered the upgrade.  
Power Joe doesn’t seem prepared at all and manages the most disgusted rendition of ‘ _Oh my god’_ he’s heard to date.

 

“Well it’s only logical!” Drill Boy shrieks, scowling back at Power Joe.

 

“Maybe, but you just don’t go around saying it out loud!”  
“ _Right_ , I forgot I was here talking to the expert on the etiquette of masturbation!”  
“I CAN’T BE AN EXPERT IN THESE MATTERS IF WE JUST GOT THE UPDATE YESTERDAY”

“AHA, AND NOW YOU FULLY ADMIT TO HAVING TRIED THEM OUT”

 

Power Joe’s fingers twitched in the way they do when he’s two inches from throttling someone who didn’t need to breathe just for the principle of it.

 

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve all probably tried it out, so we can move on to discuss other things.”  
McCrane cuts in; always the voice of reason.  
It there were ever such a thing as a second in command for a second in command Deckerd is reasonably sure he wouldn’t consider anyone else for the job.  
(He has minor daydreams cum nightmares of leaving Gunmax to such a position)

 

Thankfully, the new patrol schedule and debrief goes uninterrupted; which is all that they can hope for at this point really.  
This is probably the reason they’ve all resigned themselves to mingling around afterwards and having what is possibly the most awkward conversation of Deckerd’s entire life.  
Made more so because Yuuta has arrived to headquarters, too late for the meeting but unfortunately early for the gossiping.  
Which doesn’t stop them all from talking about it; but does make everyone use strange and probably incorrect euphemisms so as to not insult their innocence. 

 

“I’m serious; did he need to make everything so moist? My mouth is _wet_ what the fuck?”

Drill boy opens aforementioned mouth, letting them all see the glob of synthetic spit sitting inside.

 

“Drill Boy!” Dumpson hurries to snap his mouth closed for him, making drill boy bite his own tongue and smearing saliva all over his face and Dumpson’s hand in the process. “Don’t use that kind of language! Boss is right there!”

 

Yuuta, clambers to a sitting position on Deckerd’s shoulder, puffing up with all the dignity of an offended ten year old.

“I do TOO know fuck, I just don’t use it because Azuki gets upset when I say bad words!”

 

“Yuuta!” Power Joe barks out, horrified.  
Drill boy looks smug from behind Dumpson’s drool smeared hand.

McCrane is perhaps the only one unaffected.

 

“Oh come on, I’m almost eleven now; I know a lot of bad words, I just don’t use them because my sisters made me promise not to.”

This should not feel like some horrible revelation given the fact that if anyone is someone else’s child here; it would be them to Yuuta.

Deckerd feels sufficiently betrayed anyway.  
It doesn’t look like he’s the only one.

 

“Anyway,” Yuuta says, in that overly cheerful voice they use every time they’re changing the subject.

‘How’s Gunmax feeling? The Lab guys told me the update didn’t go well for him.”

 

There is a second where they all look at each other to realize nobody but Yuuta knew this at all.

Drill Boy pries Dumpson’s hand off his face with record speed. “Gunmax is sick? I thought he was just skipping again!”

 

“Uhh, I’m not sure?” Their unlikely boss chews their nails in the way that Kurumi hates to the point of threats involving physical violence.

“I think they said something about the new coding glitching a bit, they made it sound pretty bad but Toudou kept laughing about it so I don’t think it’s _too_ dangerous.”

 

There is a moment, however brief, where Deckerd can see everyone consider respecting their teammate’s boundaries.

That moment dies a quick and quiet death, given as they are all essentially sentient, mobile A.I. with a decent, yet lacking sense of social interaction.  
Also none of them are even three years old yet; and while they’re not using the same markers as human development he feels the number is telling anyway.  
Deckerd isn’t even going to try to exclude himself from the three year old camp.

 

Not since the time he told Azuki to “perhaps you should stop dating your boyfriend” because he feared he was making her upset.  
Apparently not the right phrasing in any way, shape or form.

“I’ve noticed you more unhappy as of late; would this have anything to do with your new relationship?” would have been a better option.  
That had been a terrible yet fascinating conversation.

 

This is probably why it’s barely been a minute before they’re all crowding around Gunmax’s door.

It takes considerably less time for Power Joe to knock in his usual manner. Which is basically to punch the door into submission so he could cause the greatest amount of noise possible.

 

The only answer they got was an answering clang on the other side of the door, suspiciously like the sound of something being thrown against it with a reasonable amount of force.

Apparently Gunmax is back to his old, terrible habits for requesting privacy.

 

“He’s going to dent the door if he keeps doing that.” Deckerd mumbled, cupping his hands to hold Yuuta. Who had scrambled off his shoulder and was doing their damnedest to knock on the door too.

“I’m more interested in why he’s doing that again after they made him stop.” McCrane stares down the door the way he does case files and criminals, and also everything everyone doesn’t want him analyzing ever, but he still does.

 

“GUNNMAAAAX,” Yuuta holds on to Deckerd’s thumb for balance and gives the door a few wobbly kicks.

There’s a sound of muffled cursing before there’s the muffled thump-clang of Gunmax’s footsteps, only it sounds nothing at all like Gunmax at all.  
The steps are heavier than usual, uneven and without the cadence that he usually walks with.  
The sick thing seems like a very plausible reality.

 

The door cracks open only about three inches, barely wide enough to see a part of Gunmax’s visor. “What’d you want?”

Deckerd fidgets in place, moving closer would be useless with the door open this wide; but that doesn’t stop from trying to take an aborted step forward, jostling Yuuta from where they’re lying in his hands, as Deckerd jerks back suddenly.

 

Because one of the most important aspects of an investigation is sufficient analysis of the facts, evidence, scene of occurrence.

This door blocks all of that along with most of Gunmax.

But he sounds terrible; voice filled with crackles and pops, small binary screeches of static; something Toudou put in as a symptom to major software problems.

Mimics of human illness to help spot them earlier on.

Deckerd’s never had the opportunity to gamble in his life, and is also reasonably sure (and not the only one to feel this way) that he’d be terrible at it. But he’d bet a lot of things that that’s not the only symptom Gunmax is showing right now.

 

“Wow, you’re _really sick_ aren’t you?” Dumpson wonders, tilting his head to the side to try and peek around the door blocking 90% of everything beyond one eye. 

“ _What?”_ The door opens a little more, if only because Gunmax’s hand gives a hard twitch.

“Yeah, Toudou told me all about it!” Yuuta chimes in, slumping forward into the cradle of Deckerd’s fingers so they can lean more towards Max.

 

The door slams open to reveal what is possibly, the most pissed off looking Gunmax they’ve ever seen.  
The rattle of slammed-open-metals-doors silence lasts about a second.  
Everything after that is said to the background noise of hideous laughter, courtesy of Drill Boy, Power Joe and Dumpson.

 

Gunmax, has cat ears.

Gunmax, quite possibly, has kitty ears; fluffy pointed things sitting securely on his helmet.  
Very securely on his helmet.  
The bottom of them melding into the metal with barely an indent, as seamless as one of their more delicate panels.

 

“Oh. My. God.” Yuuta wheezes, both of their hands held against their mouth tight. But not tight enough to stop the sound of their little wheezing giggles from slipping out.

Deckerd is still processing this before he can pick a reaction.  
So far his go-to sequence of thoughts has been to blink, stare, and wonder if those things are as soft as they look.

 

McCrane coughs out something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.  
“Well then; I see why you didn’t want to come out.”

 

Gunmax responds to being unintentionally played with a loud and passionate ‘ _FUCK’_.

There are several more seconds of various loud and impolite words; it feels like there should be more but Gunmax seems to run out of steam early on, wobbling from side to side and catching himself on the doorway.

Deckerd almost reaches for him again but remembers he’s holding Yuuta halfway through the motion.

Yuuta is still trying not to laugh and doesn’t seem to notice or mind.

 

“Listen you little four foot _menace_.” Gunmax’s voice warbles out the world with something that would have been maybe killer intent if he didn’t look 5 minutes away from forced shut down.

 

“Alright come on, that’s enough,” a set of very responsible words surprisingly come from Dumpson; even if he’s still half laughing in-between breaths.  
“You look like you’re about to fall over any second. You need to go tell Toudou it’s worse than he thought.”

He scoops up Yuuta before Deckerd can protest against manhandling; and they go with him willingly enough, scrambling up to sit on his shoulder, quietly giggling all the while.

 

Dumpson jerks his head at Deckerd in that universal ‘ _ ~~Gunmax~~ This situation_ _is your problem now’._  
Deckerd takes one look at Gunmax trying to look like doesn’t need the door to remain standing and gives in without the token protests.

Their resident stubborn idiot looks like he really does need help this time.

 

But the title is well and truly earned so he doesn’t bother asking.  
Deckerd just takes a hold of Gunmax’s shoulders and bodily steers him towards the lab. It’s a testament to how out of it he is that they go more than three steps before Gunmax is trying shrug him off.

 

“I don’t need to go to the lab they know this happened already.”

“I’m sure they would not be so relaxed about this if they knew you were showing physical symptoms of software malfunction.”

“You could just tell them you nosy assholes I don’t see why I have to go.”  
Deckerd sighs, the kind of sound echoed by stressed mothers everywhere.

“You’re going to go or I’m going to carry you.”

The ears flick back to sit lower on Gunmax’s head but at least he keeps walking by himself.  
Deckerd keeps a hand on one of his shoulders anyway given how he keeps swaying to the side every so often.

 

When they reach the lab, which Toudou insists is nothing more than a glorified version of his own garage, the man in question cusses out Gunmax for at least half a minute.  
Gunmax tries to give back as good as he got but doesn’t seem to be able to keep it up for long.

This honestly seems to worry Toudou more than anything else.

 

“He’s just not feeling well if he can’t keep acting like a disrespectful bastard.” Toudou assures him, as they both watch Gunmax go through a small battery of tests.

“Have you found out what’s wrong?” Deckerd asks, while Gunmax sits on something that looks like half a chair, half a pile of diagnostic wires.

Toudou grunts an affirmative into a cup of coffee.

 

“One of the interns accidentally pasted a link to a YouTube video in the code.” Toudou takes another, longer sip of coffee.  
“Apparently it was a cat compilation.”

 

Deckerd takes a second to see if he’s understanding this right.  
Toudou cottons onto it and doesn’t seem too inclined to spare the intern in question.

“Apparently making the code too intuitive turned out to be a problem. Since it couldn’t delete the extra link it tried to make sense of it. And ended up plugging into the network mainframe and altering the schematics so that when we popped him in the assembly line it gave him those.”  
Deckerd has no idea exactly what kind of face he’s making but Toudou takes only one look before he nods and downs the coffee like a shot.

“There was a tail too. But we managed to retract that the first day; it’s still in there somewhere though.”

 

“Oh,” he says.

It feels strangely sufficient, and they spend the next hour seeing Gunmax get poked and prodded, internally and externally.

After which the engineers recruit him into manhandling Gunmax into his recharge outlet and making sure he stays there.

 

The thing about robotic bodies is that they are required to get a full recharge about every week or so, along with plugging into the smaller capacity outlets next to the cots in their usual room.  
Technically speaking, they were meant to recharge upright and in their docking stations originally.

 

But Toudou and Saejima insist on giving them a “superfluous humanization” which they constantly seem to be fighting to maintain, via passive aggressive emails with the Brave Police committee.

So they have beds with minor charge outlets for most of the time and the other ones they use about once or twice a week, depending on their level of activity for a full recharge.

Gunmax had come for a full recharge about 2 days before the update and is still lower than the 30% charge minimum they are allowed to reach without compromising their functionality.

There had been a mention of him overtaxing his systems and burning through his energy as his processor went double time to try and untangle the mangled code.

 

Which is as cold and technical as it sounds in a sense.  
But the rest of the team sends their well wishes for Gunmax as Deckerd pulls up the metaphorical chair to his bed side.  
Saejima denies any and all claims of getting misty eyed and mumbling about ‘heart’ when he sees this happening.

 

This is how Deckerd finds himself half sitting on the cot next to Gunmax’s recharge station, trying to put as little body weight on it as possible. Because these things were meant to hold only one minimum 3 ton chassis, not two.

And he half sits on the edge, trying not to break the cot and in doing so: ruining at least ten grand in government funding, sending them both tumbling to the floor and most definitively snapping Gunmax out of the near offline recharge mode they all go into when plugged in to rest.

 

Anger at being tipped on the floor is not very conductive to the rest and minimal stress that Gunmax is supposed to be having. So he decides not to test the probable ‘one giant robot only’ weight limit on the cot, leaning most of himself half into the air, trying not to rest on the bed frame too much.

 

He does very much however, end up absently petting Gunmax’s ears at some point. Which mostly likely end in no small amount of mocking were Gunmax awake. But he’s not, and Deckerd feels strangely indifferent about invading Gunmax’s personal space, all things considered.

The things being how often Gunmax has invaded his own personal space on a daily basis.

 

The jury is out as to if he keeps petting them for entirely too long.  
The thing is; they’re soft, incredibly so.  
Deckerd seems to have developed a bad habit of touching every new thing to see what the texture of it feels like. At least he’s not entirely alone in this, as McCrane seems to be doing the same thing with smells and has yet to enter a room without inhaling deeply at some point.

 

Deckerd may or may not have developed a mild obsession with tactile sensation, but what’s important here is that Gunmax’s ears are definitely the softest things he’s ever felt.

Though the “fur” on them would be closer to whiskers than hair. Each and every synthetic strand packed with sensors. Everything from barometric pressure to ambient electrical currents could be measured with them.

 

Toudou had been grudgingly fascinated. Copying the design into his personal tablet and making mumbled comments on how his own creation was going to replace him at this rate.

They might have honestly asked Gunmax to keep them if the things didn’t look like they’d be such an injury to his pride.

 

Some part of Deckerd can’t help but enjoy them while they stay. So he rubs circles into them with a thumb; going against the grain of the hairs and then smoothing them back down.

Little dark green strands that get caught in his joints,  sometimes flaking off into the cot below, and he honestly has to stop himself from laughing because Gunmax sheds.

 

It’s only been about two hours before the ear flicks out of his hand as Gunmax stretches out on the cot, the flash of light as his eyes online behind the visor.

Deckerd freezes for a lot of reasons that feel important even if he can’t really explain what they are at the moment.

Gunmax just rolls over to face him and give something like a sleepy version of his usual scowl.  
“’F you decided to invade my personal space already you might as well keep going.”

 

Gunmax scoots closer and bumps his helmet against Deckerd’s leg that isn’t an invitation so much as a demand.  
It’s also something that he understands cats do quite often; which honestly, Deckerd should take the opportunity to poke fun at. But there are bigger fish to fry here, so he puts his hand back to rub at the base of one ear as Gunmax tilts his head up into the motion.  
“Feels nice,” he mumbles, hooking one arm around Deckerd’s thigh and pulling until he decides to give in, risking the health and safety of the cot after all.

 

Which is why he ends up with Gunmax’s head on his lap, petting the ears well after he’s fallen into recharge.

Saejima wakes them up a while later and Toudou wastes no time telling Gunmax that he has pictures and he’s going to hold this over his head forever.

Also they’ve found a way to get his code to accept the new alterations until they’ve found the time to remove them and fix everything else.

They both seem way more preoccupied with the pictures than the fixing of the actual problem, even if Gunmax looks like he should be doing anything but being awake and arguing right now.

 

Toudou insists it’s that if he’s fine enough to start being a disrespectful bastard again he’s going to be alright anyway.

 

Which is what makes the next week twice as strange.

Gunmax almost never passes up an opportunity to butt heads with Deckerd, to the point where Toudou said to take it as a sign of affection because ‘ _look he does that with everyone he actually likes, so he must like you as much as he likes me, he’s just an idiot about things’_.

 

But this week is unusually calm and no one argues with him about tactics or whether ‘ _Drill Boy is about as old as all of us anyway God stop momming him would’ya?_ ’.

It should be relaxing.

It is; and it isn’t.

 

It’s too relaxing; to the point where Deckerd is unnerved by it all. And even more so by the way it looks like Gunmax is getting sick again as well as avoiding him in particular.  
Going from walking out of the room as soon as he can, whenever he sees Deckerd come in; to not coming out at all aside for missions for the last two days.

The lab boys had told him that he’d gone back to his recharge station twice this week.

 

Deckerd is torn between intense annoyance and persistent worry that he might be being irresponsible for his own health again.

He can’t get that worry feeling that Yuuta had called his ‘ _sixth Gunmax sense’_ to quiet down, so it’s probably time to ask for help.

 

Help on matters that may or not be of an emotional and interpersonal nature.  
Also known as the worst kind of matter and therefore calls for the metaphorical last resort.

 

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” Deckerd says, pulling McCrane aside after a meeting.  
One that Gunmax had barely waited to be over before he rushed out of the room.

“Of course,” McCrane walks with him over to the seating area they have somewhere on base and waits while Deckerd can gather his thoughts to ask about Gunmax’s behavior.

Which apparently McCrane had already noticed.

 

“I asked the others about it too. Drill Boy seemed to know a little more about it than the others but it still wasn’t much. Apparently the bad code might be acting up again. He told him he’d gone to the lab already but I’m not too sure it was the truth.”

McCrane had turned to face him directly and reminded Deckerd about why, while they loved him, no one asked McCrane for help all that often.

“Just go ask already Deckerd.”

 

Deckerd looked away in reflex; remembering too late about how this probably told McCrane more about the subject than anything he could have said; given how often he seemed to get body language better than most humans.

 

“You’re obviously worried about him, plus you’re probably one of the few who could actually bully him into going to the lab like he probably needs to. Since Toudou doesn’t seem to know yet and Dumpson’s decided to wait and respect his decision to not say anything about it until it gets really bad. Whatever thing you’ve got going on with the passive aggressive arguing to mask actual affection isn’t more important than Gunmax’s health and-”

McCrane paused to look at Deckerd’s face and gave a small grimace.

“Right, not again; sorry.”

 

“No um,” Deckerd tried to get his face to stop doing whatever it had done to make McCrane look like that. “You stopped before you got really into it this time, thank you.”

McCrane choked out a laugh. “At least it wasn’t as bad as when I told Dumpson to stop flirting with Ayako and just confess.”

Deckerd laughed at that too because it had been a memorable experience and possibly the reason why Ayako and Dumpson had finally started dating in the first place.  
Dumpson’s indignant shouting about respecting the privacy of people’s own thoughts even if they _could_ be seen from a mile away aside.

“We’re all just glad you’ve come this far.” 

 

“Really though, he’s worrying everyone. I won’t make you go talk to him. But it might help.” McCrane just crossed his arms and let out a sigh, which Deckerd knew for a fact was something he’d picked up from Seia.

Though apparently in their case, it went both ways; as she was now given to McCrane-like poses of contemplation.

 

They didn’t exactly know who the patented ‘Go Do that Thing I Told You to Do’ stare had originally come from but he didn’t want to stick around to observe it, just nodded and walked away from it  with as much purpose as he could successfully fake.

 

The feeling that McCrane was probably right stuck around despite his best efforts.

This is most likely why he just decides to quit while he’s ahead and walk up to Gunmax’s room as soon as he has the time.

 

So of course he knocks and waits on the door for entirely too long before he realizes Gunmax isn’t even in there.

Deckerd’s honestly about to give the whole thing up for today when he hears the rhythm of a step he knows is Gunmax’s coming from around the corner.  
Even if it still sounds too heavy to be normal.

 

Gunmax, when he does come into his line of sight, looks almost as bad as he did last time. Ears pinned back and carrying around the smell of overworked engines, sharp and tangy because of the copper wiring.

 

“Ugh,” Gunmax spits out the moment he catches sight of him. Stopping dead in his tracks and putting a hand up to his nose.  
Deckerd remembers nausea and oversensitivity to sights, scents, and sensation; is something that was added as a symptom to internal issues.  
The worry and annoyance make grand reprise.

 

“Go away,” Gunmax whines, slumping into the wall, avoiding Deckerd’s eyes. 

“No,” comes out sterner than he meant it, but annoyance and concern tend to go hand and hand with Gunmax.  
“You’ve been worrying us; are you having trouble again? Why can’t you ask for help? Do I need to cart you down to the lab every time?”

 

Deckerd steps closer with every accusation, until he’s right in front of his idiot teammate.  
Who seems to be having a hard time just to stay upright just now.

He can’t quite hold on to that annoyance very well because of that, and reaches out to shake him a little.  
“Gunmax?”

 

Gunmax doesn’t answer, slumping forward into Deckerd’s chest and giving him two seconds of intense panic before he speaks up.  
“Would you quit it?” Gunmax draws in loud breaths through his mouth, as his vents let out puffs of too warm air. “It’s not like I’m dying.”

“You may not be dying but it doesn’t look like you’re well either. Have you actually told someone about this?”

 

The ears twitch a little, brushing up against Deckerd’s chin.  
He firmly reminds himself now is not the time for petting anything. And Gunmax would probably bite his hand off if he tried his luck more than once.

“I did; I went to the interns. They haven’t found a way to fix it yet.”

 

Deckerd frowns even if he knows Gunmax can’t see it from where he is now.  
“The interns? Haven’t you gone to Toudou?”

“I’d honestly let this kill me before I have to tell _more_ people about it.”

 

The rasp in Gunmax’s breath grows more pronounced and Deckerd is more than worried.

He steps back and grabs a hold of Deckerd’s head, making him stay still so he can’t avoid looking him in the eye.  


Deckerd had many things to say on the subject but all of them die away at the noise Gunmax makes right after he does that. Something high and breathy, that slips out like it he can’t control it.

 

“You need to tell me exactly what’s wrong, or I’m taking you to Toudou right this second.”  
Deckerd is most definitely taking him to Toudou anyway; but he’s learned the value of asking for forgiveness instead of permission in some situations.

Gunmax looks as if he isn’t going to say anything for a moment; but then Deckerd gets an entirely different kind of answer. When Gunmax, curls his hands around his neck, hauling him closer and leaning up to compensate for the height so he can grind his hips against Deckerd’s with a screechy rasp of protesting metal.

 

“Gunmax!” Deckerd feels his frame heat up at intense shock and embarrassment in what must be seconds. Engine boiling past what feels like acceptable temperatures as Gunmax muffles more noises into the crook of his neck.

Deckerd hauls him off, ready to cart him off to Toudou right then and there.

 

“You really wanna help?” Gunmax barks out a laugh, choppy and hysterical as he clamps a hand down on Deckerd’s wrist.  
“I could use some help; so just do me a favor and tell me straight up right now if you’ll fuck me or I’ll find someone else.”

 

Deckerd’s engine stall with a clatter as he literally feels his processor freeze up.  
“Uh, I-i,”  
He tries to jerk his wrist out of Gunmax’s grasp but only manages to tug him closer as he hangs onto it.

 

“Fucking hell you’re not gonna let anything go till I explain aren’t you?” Gunmax shoves him back, apparently oblivious to how Deckerd can’t seem to speak right now, much less demand full answers like he usually would.

 

“The goddamn code is glitching again and now it’s fucking around with the new stuff. Long embarrassing story short; the thing made me go into some kinda heat and as much as I was trying to hold out, I really, really need to make it stop so either help or get outta the way.”

 

“What?” He straightens back up again, looming over Gunmax now that they’re back on familiar, argument filled territory. “That doesn’t even make sense! It altered your frame and some code but you don’t even have a reproductive organ! It shouldn’t be doing this!”

 

“Fuck do you really have to know every stupid detail?” Gunmax bit back without any of his usual heat, his voice reedy and breathy all over again.

“It’s because of you, you sick fuck! It knows I wanted to kinda try stuff; and I may have been thinking about stuff that may or may not have involved you and the fucking thing _noticed_! So now it wants me to have wild sex with you just because it thinks it’s a great idea and it won’t even let me say no. So either get over yourself, take one for the team and _fuck me,_ or just leave before this thing screws me over even more!” He ends the rant on a whine, voice breaking on an uptick as he tries to shove Deckerd out of the way to his door.

 

“You idiot,” He says, with barely anything near the usual annoyance in it.  
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Deckerd twists his wrist in the grip so he’s the one holding Gunmax now.

“Look,” He starts, trying not to look as embarrassed and nervous about this as he is.  
Pretty sure he’s mostly holding it all together because even if Gunmax won’t admit it; it sounds serious. “I’m not an expert in all this, seeing as how we just gained the capacity less than a month ago. But if I can do something I wouldn’t leave you to deal with it by yourself!”

 

Gunmax just stares at him, panting softly through a half open mouth. “Are you offering to have sex with me?”

Deckerd’s just started to try nod yes before Gunmax presses back up against him with enough force to make him stumble back and almost fall; pressing his mouth against his neck to lick and suck on the cables there.

 

He only gets him to stop just long enough to open the door to his room and herd him in there before Gunmax started to get indecent in a public area.  
It’s only been a couple of seconds since the door closes till Gunmax manhandles him onto the bed. Crawling half on him, plastering all over his front.

 

He might have been holding back outside from what it looks like now, as his vents sputter out boiling gusts of air, hard enough to make the grills rattle.

Deckerd feels even more lost than the first time he tested out the interface coding himself because, at least then he had a vague idea of what he was supposed to do and his own reactions to go by.

 

Gunmax doesn’t seem to mind so far, and just tilts his head for better access when he tries to return the favor to mouth at his neck. Deckerd just tries to imitate what Gunmax had been doing before, and trial and error seems to work a little.

Gunmax’s breathing turns into a rasp when he licks a strip up the side, stops with a stutter when he bites it, and, oddly enough makes him whine, soft and sudden when he presses a kiss there.

 

Conclusive proof is always needed though. So Deckerd kisses it again, then some more, and it leaves Gunmax slumped on his chest, curling his fingers into Deckerd’s every time he drags his lips over the neck cables to reach somewhere new.

 

He sits them up with a little difficulty; slumped and boneless as Gunmax is.  
“Hey,” Deckerd mumbles against his neck, no longer kissing, but trailing his fingers up and down the base of his spine.

“Help me out here. What do you need?”

 

“Fuck, just whatever, anything’s good, whatever you think of just as long as you put something in me at some point.”

Deckerd freezes up again at how crass he’s being; fingers slipping in their circuit.   
But it’s getting easier and easier to shrug off now. Even if it’s not because he’s stopped finding it nerve wracking; but because he’s just doing his best not to dwell on it now.

 

“I just,” Deckerd’s fingers slow to a stop on Gunmax’s back. “Give me something please. I haven’t exactly done this much. Even on my own.”

 

Gunmax draws back to give him something that’s the closest thing so far to his normal shit eating grin.  


“Wow you’re boring.”  
“If you want someone more exciting I can just leave.”  
  
Deckerd’s barely finished speaking before he’s crowded again; Gunmax pressing frantic kisses to his neck.  
“Hey, hey, calm down I’m not going anywhere. It was a joke.”

His hand skates up to press a little into Max’s upper back in a way that may or may not be like a hug. “I thought you told me I should try them sometime.”

Gunmax thumps a fist on side in a way that actually hurts a little now with their new bodies.

“Had to be now, didn’t it asshole.” He says, and Deckerd can’t help laugh a little, pressing his face into the side of Gunmax’s helm.

A part of him absently realizes this is not only the most he’s ever touched Gunmax, but also the most he’s ever touched anyone, period.

 

He pushes him back for what feels like the fifth time to see if he can get something more out this before he gets any worse. Because it feels like he’s just heating up more and more instead of cooling off no matter how much air he cycles.

 

“Is soft alright?” He asks, pressing a kiss to his cheek, bumping their noses together a bit, too warm breath washing over his mouth when he draws back a little.

Gunmax just makes that little, soft noise again and tips his head up just a bit, in a way that’s almost unnoticeable if Deckerd wasn’t able to calculate the change in angle down to the millimeter.

 

Warmth slips from that other mouth into his and it would be a complete lie to say Deckerd hasn’t wondered what kissing feels like, that he doesn’t halfway move to do it just now.  
But something nags at him, because how much of this is the code glitching? Making Gunmax give stuff he wouldn’t have normally?

So he tries for a small distraction and ends up with something completely different.

 

The ears are still soft, but this time Gunmax gives a full body shudder the moment he touches them.

In a few moments he’s turned into a shaky mess, gripping Deckerd’s thighs in a way that feels strong enough to dent, the revs of his engines hard enough to make his chest plates vibrate.

 

“Y-you’re ‘s’posed to be fuckign this shit out of me; why are you doing that?” Gunmax doesn’t ask as much as he whines again, his voice high and wobbling whenever fingers sweep another pass over the ears.

 

Deckerd doesn’t say anything just yet, pressing another kiss to cheek and sees what happens if he puts a little more force on them, pinching a tip.

Gunmax’s hips buck up in reflex, as he mashes his face into Deckerd’s shoulder with a sound that can only be called a yowl, fingers curling and uncurling on his thighs.

 

“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to come.” He pants out.

“I don’t see why that’s a bad thing?” Deckerd says, petting them still.

“We don’t know how long this could last. I might get tired or something.”

“Besides,” he redirects the warmer air from his vents to his mouth and lets it fan out on the ears as he presses a small kiss to the one on the left. “I’m not opposed to a shortcut.”

 

Gunmax’s engine stalls with a rattle, as Deckerd slides his hands down to his hips.  
“Just tell me to stop, anytime you want.”

Is all the warning he gets before Deckerd drags the tip of one ear into his mouth and sucks.

Gunmax lets out a wordless screech of static from his vocalizer, jerking in his grasp in something that maybe looks directionless. But drags him closer and settles them flush against each other, chest to chest; in a way that Deckerd knows is on purpose.

Deckerd only has to run his teeth over it once before Gunmax does grab his legs hard enough to dent; overloading with a crackle of excess charge too high to be normal.

 

The current flows into him too and they both come down from the shock with half a dozen warnings about possible fuse damage.

Gunmax cuffs the side of his head, the moment he can see without error messages cluttering his h.u.d.

“Had to do that too didn’t you.” He says, but none of his words now have its usual effects. Breathy as they are, floating around with the scent of overheated engines.

 

Deckerd presses his thumbs into the seams of Gunmax’s hips, tracing the edge of the plates, as the rest of the words trail off into something that’s mostly unintelligent mumbling.

”What now?” Deckerd asks, pressing a kiss to the base of an ear. 

“Fuck me,” Gunmax says, doing his best to cling to him like a leech, winding an arm around his neck. “What are you waiting for d’ya want me to beg? Just _fuck me_ please; you already made me overload without even opening anything and there’s stuff all over my –” The rant stutters and dies into an “ _ohhh_ ”, as Deckerd takes the suggested demand and slips his hand lower towards Gunmax’s pelvic panels.

 

There’s something smeared around the edges and when Deckerd moves him off his lap to see, it turns out to be lubricant. More of it gushing out to make a damp spot on the cot, when Gunmax gets tired of waiting for him and lets the panel snap back by itself.

 

This is definitely the moment where Deckerd remembers how out of his depth he is because he is the individual least prepared for this; at least Drill Boy had confessed to watching porn and the others had followed.  
But Deckerd hadn’t even lasted a full minute, closing the video the moment the actors had started moaning enthusiastically (one even through her “occupied” mouth), stamping down the urge to hide his face in his hands.

 

 This feels like the same thing. Only twice as worse because it’s not something that’s as easy to quit from. The way Gunmax splays out on the bed, chest heaving with the deep inhales he takes to try and cool his frame.

“Any day now!” He snaps, and Deckerd can see the way his thighs shake a little as he holds them wide open; in a way that could be enticing he guesses, but is mostly just terrifying at the moment.

 

“FuckiNG,” Gunmax beats him to the punch, dragging his hands down his face, covering his mouth and upsetting his visor.  
The left of it tilting too far down, exposing one green optic; over bright to the point where the mint color is almost white.

“You’re chickening out on me now? This can’t be that hard!” He says, visor slipping further down his nose, voice slipping higher into hysteria.  
“Take one for the team why don’t you! It’s not like I’m asking for your hand in marriage! You aren’t the only one who wants this bullshit to be over; so do us both a favor and just-”

 

Deckerd leans forward, back into Gunmax’s space without thinking, swallowing up the indignation in a kiss that’s probably highly disappointing; that makes Gunmax tense like a rubber band the moment before it snaps.

 

“Sorry,” He says, pushing forward for one last kiss. “It’s just -”  
He tries to find a way to say that this whole thing is a little too fast too soon for him without it sounding completely worth mocking.  
There might not be one right now.

 

“Yeah, yeah I get it.” Gunmax’s heaves out a full body sigh; steam coming out of the vents now.

“Just; please?” He asks; hitching his up towards Deckerd.  
And it’s just like Gunmax to put all the focus on that, when Deckerd can see he hasn’t stopped looking at his mouth even now.

 

Kissing though; kissing is less likely to go horribly wrong at this point.  
So he goes back into it, trading breaths on automatic as Gunmax pushes up and into it, his frame hot enough to exude warmth all over at this point.

 

Deckerd tries to think but not think about it, and that seems to work well enough so far. Because Gunmax looks like he’s about to be cooking in his plating and this is probably not the time to have a crisis of sexual self-doubt; but instead the time to just _do something_.

 

The rim is smeared with lubricant, enough of it to start adding to the spot on the bed.

Gunmax most definitely does not have the patience to wait, bucking his hips into his hand when his hand starts hovering uselessly above it.

 

When swallows down the anxiety with a breath, it’s warm.  
Overheated like his ex-vents like his chassis, but it’s not uncomfortable just yet. So he curls his fingers up, deeper and Gunmax slumps down on the bed, gripping the pillow tight enough to strain the fabric.

 

“Fuck,” He pants out, hooking his legs around Deckerd’s thighs to try and pull him closer.  
“Don’t be crass,” Deckerd chides on automatic.  
A little uselessly, considering what they’re doing right now.

It’s too much to ask for Gunmax not to pick up on that honestly so the “ _Really”_ is pretty deserved.

Instead of answering Deckerd just presses into something a little to the left.  
This is a very effective method for getting Gunmax to stop talking.

Deckerd abuses it happily and before long Gunmax is overloading again.  
Deckerd muffling the loudest of the noises with his own mouth, because decency, regardless of Gunmax believing it or not, is a thing.

 

There are other things that are maybe worth considering.  
Like the way Gunmax moans into his mouth sometimes and laughs right afterwards; how it can make Deckerd laugh too because Gunmax has an honestly terrible laugh. When Gunmax just laughs harder because of that, curling both hands into his neck and hauling him closer, mashing their faces together as he laughs at whatever incompetent thing Deckerd’s done this time.

 

It’s an embarrassing but not unprecedented revelation that he’s definitely not a natural at this; which should feel a lot more terrible than it does. But he’s really not going to complain at that part.

Gunmax for all his faults isn’t a completely terrible person and with the edge already off from two consecutive overloads he’s in a better state of mind to make up for Deckerd’s predictable uselessness in this area.  
  
So he tells him at last, what’s too much or too little; and even if he _does_ laugh at every time something goes wrong, he also does curl his hands around Deckerd’s until they’re both inside him so he can show him what to touch and when to back off because “ _Oversensitivity is a thing idiot this is why the ears were enough to push me over alone this time.”_

They reach three and four like that; and while Gunmax has cooled down a little it doesn’t seem to be going down.

 

“Ok really. I didn’t wanna push but this thing is getting real insistent. Can I?” Deckerd barely hears the words because Gunmax is touching him again, for the first time in a while.  
A hand tracing the edges of his pelvic panel insistently.

Deckerd tries to say something and probably fails spectacularly which is something that Gunmax most definitely notices.

“No _Is_ an answer.”

 

Deckerd clears his vocalizer in a burst of static. “You’d have to teach me.”  
Gunmax snorts into his neck. “This is kind of as far as I got. But it doesn’t look too hard to figure out.”

 

He takes a deep breath and kisses Gunmax again (he should also really either think or entirely avoid thinking why this is something they’ve been doing the most.) as his panels retract and his spike onlines between them, now that it’s finally allowed to activate.

 

“Normally I’d try to fully return the favor but I’m just going to give you an i.o.u on this.” Gunmax cackles, slipping a hand to tease at his spike, making Deckerd jump halfway off the bed.  
“It’ll be formally written and everything Toudou can get me a guy who can notarize it.”

Deckerd just grabs at the hand that’s rubbing circles into the node at the head so he can speak again.  
Or at the very least, stop hissing static, as crackles of charge spark around his eyes again.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Gunmax says, dragging the words against the corner of his mouth. As he drags closer, up then down and hands definitely did not feel like this at all.

It’s a little overwhelming, and maybe he doesn’t need to hold Gunmax down so he doesn’t move because he seems to be in the same camp. As the valve squeezes and flutters around him and Deckerd tries to take deep breaths again.

Gunmax just rolls his hips forward as soon as he seems to gather himself. Their chassis’ clanking together; hard edges that bump into each other hard and maybe a little uncomfortably.  
This must be nothing like what actual intercourse is like, because humans are soft and bendy and there’s probably nothing like what’s happening here, the way their breath slips out smelling like diesel and smoke.

 

Gunmax just whips his glasses off to toss them somewhere over his shoulder and give him one of shitty grins and in a sense, not much really matters anymore again.

Deckerd ends up over him in the end.  
Because Gunmax is annoying and also maybe insatiable, and a person can only hear “ _more_ ” before they get completely fed up and take things into their own hands.

 

And Deckerd forgets about how terrifying this is and isn’t, as his mouth trips up a path from his neck to the ears. As Gunmax hitches on hiccups of breath every time, Deckerd chasing them back into his mouth.  
The time he claps a hand on the back of his neck a little too hard for leverage and doesn’t even get to apologize before Gunmax arches up and off the bed with a noise that is definitely not pain. Both of them chasing that heat.

 

Gunmax comes with a noise that’s screechy and high the moment Deckerd remembers the ears and drags a thumb across the base of one; the heat and the pulse of his valve dragging Deckerd over too. The force of the charge off lining them both this time.

 

Deckerd wakes up, not only to too much fluid again, but also to the floor. Gunmax having tossed him off himself the minute he woke up and accidentally into the floor.

He can’t really be as indignant as he should be at the moment. When Gunmax laughs at him from the bed and throws at pillow at him from above, his eyes back to mint, the visor lost somewhere in a corner.

 

But Deckerd still definitely marches them over to Toudou as soon as he can, no matter the protests.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to anyone who read this trainwreck  
> future shit is gonna be 
> 
> 2 - Dumpson x Ayako  
> 3 - Seia x McCrane
> 
> bc im balling hard and going for a xeno bingo  
> with three being some weird reprise of  
> Gunmax and deckerd once more


End file.
